Of Maedhros Fëanorion
by jessewrites
Summary: Maglor son of Fëanor wanted the world to see his oldest brother as he did, and so compiled a collection of writings in an attempt to devillinize Maedhros.
1. Maglor

The histories of the Eldar live in stories and songs- who knows this better than I, singer second only to Daeron of Doriath? But tales such as these too often leave out the live components of those whose stories are told, naming only deeds- and who knows this better than I, last survivor of the Dispossessed? I make this compilation with no purpose but to give one I love a story that makes him not the monster he was named during the darkest days of the War of Wrath, but the leader and caretaker I know him to be.

Maglor Fëanorion

The first writing in this collection, as I think is fitting, comes from me. The days before the darkening were happy in our home, though days tended towards organized chaos, our very own pocket of madness, for many yeni. Russandol was even then so different from our father that after Tyelkormo came old enough, neither Russandol nor I were required to help our father in the forge- neither of us were suited to it. Russandol had not the love of it, and I had not the patience. I know not what day this was, for it was not any great feast or any special day. I do not even know why I remember it so vividly. It was just a day among many in the house of Fëanaro, as he was known then, and his wife Nerdanel and their children.

I was in the study, writing a song. Father was in the forge, and Mother was in the kitchen. Ambarussa were just shy of their third Naming Day, Atarinkë was ten, Carnistir was seventeen, Tyelkormo was thirty, I was thirty seven, and Russandol had just celebrated his fortieth Naming Day. I do not know what had happened, for I had been in the study playing my harp, but the house was in an uproar.

"Maitimo!" Mother shouted as I poked my head out. Ambarussa were wailing and Atarinkë had joined in, distressed by their distress, I suspect. Russandol came in, Carnistir on his back; there were tears on Carnistir's face and his knee bled profusely through his ripped breeches.

"Yes mother?" Russandol asked, setting Carnistir on the table and fetching the small bag mother kept for cleaning up our numerous scrapes and bumps.

Mother came in carrying both the twins. They were still wailing. Atarinkë saw me and ran to me, clutching my midsection, and I hugged him.

Russandol finished cleaning Carnistir's scrape, relieved mother of one of the twins, and set about bandaging the scrape on Carnistir's knee one handed, all the while humming and murmuring nonsense to Ambarussa.

He saw me and Atarinkë and asked Carnistir if he was well. When Carnistir nodded, he immediately crossed to us and knelt down next to Atarinkë. "What is it, little one?" he asked.

Atarinkë quickly transferred his grip to Russandol's neck. "They were screamin'," Atarinkë mumbled into our brother's throat. "Shouldn't scream."

"But you screamed when you were that small," Russandol reasoned. "As did I. Who are we to deny him the great joy of being a baby? You can scream and no one screams back."

Atarinkë looked up, a frown on his small features. "Joy?"

Russandol smiled gently. "Well, would you want to lie around all day, and have everyone do everything for you?"

Atarinkë shook his head.

"Well, then understand that when they scream, it is only out of boredom."

I saw the smile creep up Atarinkë's face, and Russandol flashed me a secretive smile as he stood back up, bouncing Ambarussa on his hip and rubbing noses with him.

Mother looked terribly relived that the screaming had stopped. She looked very tired, for the twins still woke up in the night wailing, and she and father had not had a full night's sleep in many astar.

"Kano," Russandol suggested, "Why don't you play the song you've been working on for Tyelkormo, Carnistir and Atarinkë?" In other words, 'please, brother, get them out of our hair!'

I looked around. "Where is Tyelkormo?"

Russandol pointed. "Right..." he trailed off. "He was right there."

Mother looked alarmed. Of all of us, Tyelkormo was the worst about wandering off, and though nothing in Tuna was going to hurt us, none of her children needed help to get into messes or hurt ourselves.

Russandol handed Ambarussa to me. "I'll go find him, Mother."

I smiled down at Carnistir and Atarinkë. "Why don't we go in the study and play that song?"

Mother took Ambarussa from me, and I took the rest of my brothers to back to the study. The next time I saw Russandol was lunch. He and Tyelkormo had apparently made lunch while mother was napping in one of the rare periods where Ambarussa slept at the same time.

Father, I knew, was taking lunch in the forge; he often did. Carnistir set the table, and I volunteered Atarinkë and myself to clear up after the meal, which we all knew meant I would be doing it myself, but Atarinkë liked to think he was helping.

Almost as soon as we sat down, one of the Ambarussa began to cry. Mother sighed softly and started to get up, but Russandol stopped her. "I'll get him, Mother."

By the time Russandol had risen and walked out to the nursery, both the twins were crying. I was closest to the door and could hear Russandol murmuring, though I could not hear the words, and gradually the low mutter resolved into a lullaby, hummed or sung softly. I could remember Mother and later Russandol singing it to me when I was small.

The squalling stopped, and after a few minutes, Russandol returned. He smiled gently. "He just needed changing, Mother; it was nothing."

Mother ran her fingers through Russandol's rusty hair. "Thank you Maitimo."

An hour after lunch, the bell rang and Tyelkormo and Carnistir scuffled over who would answer the door, and in the midst of their tussling, Russandol, carrying Ambarto, answered it for them. "Findekáno!" he cried. "What brings you here?"

Our cousin grinned, shaking his untidy hair out of his eyes. "Father sent me with a message for uncle. Said he was more likely to actually read it if I brought it and you and Makalaurë gave him your 'wounded hound' looks."

Russandol laughed. Father's rather active dislike of his brothers was something of a legend, and we all remembered to screaming match between mother and father when Russandol and Findekáno became so close. Mother adored Findekáno, though father (who by this point was actually rather fond of him) pretended dislike for appearance's sake. It was something of the truth that he would read a message couriered by Findekáno when he might not have read it if his brother had brought it.

"Afternoon, Makalaurë," Findekáno said, flashing me a grin. "And who's this rascal?" he asked, sweeping up Ambarussa, who apparently had escaped mother and was crawling across the floor towards the door. "Already bent on escape, are you?" Findekáno asked, tickling the babe gently.

Ambarussa laughed musically, tugging on Findekáno's already disheveled hair.

Russandol laughed warmly. "Not the hair, Ambarussa! It is a disaster enough without your help!"

Findekáno made a face at Russandol just as mother came in.

"Boys, who was at the door? Oh, afternoon, Findekáno."

Findekáno ducked into a half-bow. "Afternoon, Aunt. How fare you?"

"Well, thank you. Oh, let me take him." She reached for Ambarussa, but Findekáno shook his head.

"It's no trouble, Aunt. I've just got a message for Uncle. Hi, Tyelkormo."

Tyelkormo waved. "Want me to take father the message?"

"Would you?" Findekáno asked. "That would be wonderful." Findekáno handed over his missive and dropped onto the couch, still jiggling Ambarussa.

Russandol took the seat beside him and Atarinkë poked his head over the back of the couch between them. Russandol laughed. He always laughed more when Findekáno was around. "Is that where you've been hiding, Atarinkë? Behind the couch?"

Atarinkë nodded solemnly and reached over to gently tickle Ambarussa and then Ambarto. "Hidin'," he pronounced.

"An excellent idea, in all this madness," Findekáno told him, matching his solemnity. After a moment, he nodded to me. "Get your harp, little player, and entertain us!"

I shrugged, but Atarinkë sealed my fate. "Play him your new song!" he yelped.

Findekáno grinned. "Oh now you have to play, Makalaurë! I must hear your newest work of art."

"It's okay," I mumbled, flushing red and finding my harp to cover my embarrassment.

"Of course it's wonderful, Kano," Russandol said, as if he could not believe I thought otherwise. "You wrote it. Your songs are like father's jewelry with words."

I flushed red to my eartips, but shook my head. He always said things like that, to all of us. When Carnistir drew father a picture, it was Russandol who told him what a wonderful work it was and hung it on the cupboards in the kitchen for all of us to see. When Tyelkormo brought home his first catch from a trap he made himself- he was always a great hunter- it was Russandol who congratulated him on his good work and taught him to pluck and clean it.

Russandol just prompted me with a nod, so I played and sang. Pretty soon all three of my youngest brothers were sound asleep on the couch, Atarinkë between Russandol and Findekáno. I stopped and Russandol silently led Findekáno to the nursery so they could lay the twins down for their nap.

"Where are Tyelkormo and Carnistir?" Russandol asked mother as they came back through the kitchen.

"With your father."

Russandol nodded. "Atarinkë is sleeping on the couch and the twins are down. Can Findekáno, Kano and I go out for awhile?"

Mother nodded. "Be sure you're back in time for Findekáno to get home before his father begins to wonder where he is."

"Yes mother," Russandol said brightly, and beckoned us both with a tilt of his head.

After an hour or so of wandering around the woods around the house, Tyelkormo and Carnistir joined us, saying mother had sent them to us. Our wandering quickly degenerated into a game of tag, and somehow it was decided that Russandol must be it.

Russandol chased us until Carnistir was falling down with exhaustion and Tyelkormo was not far behind. Russandol looked positively done in, but still offered Carnistir a piggy-back ride back to the house.

Findekáno could not stay for dinner, but instead started off for his home, and we sat down to dinner. Father asked mother how her day had gone, and she smiled. "Wonderful, dear, how was yours?"

Father rambled on about work for a time, and I confess, none of us children were listening, too entertained by Russandol's spot-on imitation of our father's mannerisms to actually listen to him. Father caught him at it when Atarinkë ceased to be able to hold in his giggles, and he scowled, but we could all see the smile in his eyes. He asked mother, "This herd did not give you trouble?"

Mother smiled down the table at Russandol. "I think they ran your oldest a little ragged, but they did not trouble me any."

Father ruffled Russandol's hair, and he blushed. "It was nothing. I just wanted to help mother."

It was then, I think, that I realised that I had the best brother in Arda. "Russandol," I asked, "Why?"

"I'm your big brother," he answered. "I'm supposed to look out for you."

"But who looks after you?" Atarinkë asked.

Russandol seemed taken aback.

"I do," Father answered.

I saw the flash of relief in Russandol's eyes that he tried to hide. There was still a little tenseness between Russandol and father sometimes, even ten yeni after Atarinkë's naming. I think father thought Russandol was angry, and felt he had a right to be, and so never tried to clear the air, because he thought he deserved Russandol's anger. I know Russandol was very hurt by his naming Curufinwë as he did, and sometimes still feared that father did not love him.

Russandol and I shared a room, and I was in bed already when he finally staggered in and collapsed on his bed. He had been helping mother and father get the others to sleep.

"Night, Kano," he mumbled.

"Goodnight, Russandol," I answered.


	2. Maedhros in his own words

It is known by few that ere their falls, the sons of Fëanor often kept notes of great deeds and things important to them(Note below). Follows is an excerpt of Russandol's journal, from father's exile from the city, the first kinslaying, and the burning of the white ships of the Teleri. Remember my brother with love, Fingolfin, for he alone of your brother's sons refused the family feud and turned aside!

The lies of Melkor have penetrated deeply indeed, more so than even I could imagine. I do not understand my people. 'Do not believe Melkor,' they say, 'for he is Lord of Lies.' And yet, when he speaks, all see grains of truth in his words, even those most leery of him. Even my father believes the malcontent he spreads. I too, believed the lies until Melkor made a mistake in his plotting. He named Fingon a threat to my father's birthright, said that he was trying to usurp for his father my father's place. This, I know to be a lie, and so I see now the spider web of deceit Melkor has spun, but none believe me.

His lies, though, have caused my father to forge swords for each of us. I refused at first. It frightened me to have such a thing, to learn to use it.

Atarinkë called me a coward, but I would not be swayed. I had to watch the lessons, though, by father's orders, and so I watched and learned, but did not put into practice what I had seen. But too soon, the draw of the sword overpowered me, and I picked up the blade my father had forged for me. The metal sang in my skin, a spark along my veins and through my _fëa_ as though here was a part of me I that was missing and knew it not.

I moved in the pattern dance I had seen my father teach Kano only days before, my being humming with the exquisite agony of oneness. It was the pride I saw in my father's face when he looked upon the Silmarili, the joy in Kano's voice when he composed a song. A blade suddenly blocked my own, and I felt the jarring crash thrill through me.

Father looked down his sword at me. "I wondered when you would admit your own fascination. I have seen your face in your brothers' lessons." He lunged forward and I blocked, feeling the thrill course through me again as our blades met.

"It is extraordinary," I admitted. I parried a thrust and jabbed back, careful and uncertain of my own prowess.

"You were born for this, Nelyo. You performed that pattern flawlessly. Even Kano, with his memory, had to have it explained three times."

"Show me," I asked, only half-aware of my words. All my concentration was on the thrill in my blood and the song of the steel, the weight of the sword in my hand and the whirr of the wind from my swing.

That night I was frightened by how easy the sword came to me, by the rush of joy it brought to me. Can it be that I was made for this, as my father said? The sword is the only thing I have found that brings me this thrill, but a sword is only used to fight and kill. Can it be that this is my only use?

Today is a day that will live on in songs and stories for the rest of elven memory. Kano will write songs of it, later when the grief is not so fresh, and we will mourn. We lost many good elves today, not the least from our own people.

I do not know who struck first, occupied as I was with rigging and ropes. I know only that the crash of steel came fast, and by the time I had turned around, my father bled from a cut on his cheek and Olwë's body slowly slid to the deck. Olwë's people attacked father before any of us could react, and I leapt to father's defense. He was so outnumbered and I have never seen the peaceful Teleri so aroused as they were this morn. I was frightened, though I do not think anyone would believe me. The eyes of Olwë's son when he lunged at me were blind and wrathful, and I have never seen such rage, not even when father and Nolofinwë fought. Even the women and children of Alqualondë rose up in arms, and Kano had to save me from Olwë's widow. I froze as my blade sank into the chest of Olwë's son. My first kill- I who father said would be a great warrior- sickened me. The feeling of flesh giving and bones breaking, seeing in his eyes his _fëa_ flee his body, the knowledge that this was another elf, one to whom I could claim kinship through marriage, it sickened me.

Tyelkormo cried out in pain as a Teler struck him down, and I could not let him kill my brother. My brother's need spurred me to movement, and my people's need kept me in motion. We had to win, or the Dark was already our fate.

I could see why my father said I was born for this, I who could not please him in the smithy. Time slowed as I fought in my first battle; it was as if every possible move my enemy could make was mapped out before me in the moment before he made it, and in the end his choice was apparent to me before he ever made it. I could counter each move almost before it was made. My sword was an extension of the arm, and the Teler stopped being anything but the sandbags I had so often split in practice. I walked out of the fire of battle unburned and unmarked, though I was lucky, one of the few. Atarinkë will favour his leg for a time, though the wound will heal. Kano will likely bear a scar on his shoulder for the rest of his life.

As I walked across the beach to my father and brothers, I took care not to step upon the fallen. A hand grasped my ankle, forcing me to stop. The elf who stopped me was Teler, perhaps a little younger than Atarinkë's son, only a few years past his majority. He could not speak for the wound across his throat, and could not breathe. The fear in his eyes is what stopped me, and I think it shall haunt my dreams for a along time to come. I buried my blade in his chest and watched his eyes darken, for what else could I do? There is no healer living who could have saved him, or any of the others who died on my blade this day.

Someday I will hate myself for this, but today, I am victorious. I am young and fair, a fell lord of a fey people, a prince among princes. I am unharmed and my family yet lives. We have a means of passage now, because of these white ships, and for today, there is hope. For today, there is victory.

The voyage was short and the mariners among us tell me it was an easy voyage, though I find that sea voyages as a rule do not seem to agree with me. Ambarussa mocked me endlessly on the way over, for my unbearable sea-sickness. I am of the Noldor, they told me time and again, and I should not be so gracelessly ill. My only saving grace, as I see it, is that Kano was equally ill. I have never been so thrilled to see anywhere as I was to see that beach. It seems I looked so pale, father did not even ask me to help unload the supplies, not that there was a shortage of willing hands, for those my father deems loyal comprise a great host. My heart warns me, though, that it will not be enough to even ruffle Morgoth's composure. It was after the ships were emptied that my father struck me speechless in his folly.

I almost cannot believe that he would do as he did. I asked what mariners he would send back for the rest of the host. There was a fey light in his eyes when he ordered the ships burned. The words he spoke, the conviction with which he claimed out kin useless stunned me, left me breathless. In that moment, I could not bear to look upon my father or brothers. Kano, I think, saw my grief, for he has always known me best, but he made no move to stand with me, and joined our father in the ultimate betrayal of our kin.

I confess I felt he had betrayed me, a little, for how could he act so, knowing how I felt about it? But it is selfish of me, for it is right that the son should stand with the father. Perhaps it is I who is the traitor, but what of the bond tying brothers, does that matter so little? I do not mean Kano and me, though that is pain enough, I mean father and Nolofinwë. Does father not owe him, or does he feel that their different mothers remove him from bonds of kinship? Grandfather would not see it so, I think, but I cannot say such to my father, for he feels betrayed by uncle's very existence. Are we so different then, father and I? I who felt betrayed by my brother doing what is right? Phrased thus, it seems father and I are more alike than I would like to admit. That frightens me. One day, will others see the same madness I now see in father's eyes in my own?

The light of the fires was so akin to the light of madness in my father's eyes, I knew not what to do except look away. I walked up the beach, unable to listen to the crackling of the wood as it signed the death warrant of one I hold dear, for I know my cousin, and no lack of ships will turn Findekáno aside, and no ocean or ice pass will stop him from crossing to Beleriand. I fear the Helcaraxë will take him.

In this way, Findekáno reminds me of father; he is hotter in spirit than I, fearless and easily impassioned. Father's words stirred him more than he would admit, I think, but he would not speak for going, though he wished it, because he would not speak against his father, who cautioned patience. He is as my father could have been, were he not so self-centered, I think, for I love my father dearly, but grandfather spoiled him and made him over-proud and self-absorbed. What is good for father is good for all, but what is good for all is good for Findekáno. I also think all Arda was blessed when Findekáno was not my father's son. They would have killed each other long before Morgoth could poison our people with lies. At the same time, though, were he here, Findekáno could have steadied father's rash impulses with uncle's sense. For all father's and uncle's differences, father likes Findekáno for my sake.

And beyond that, doesn't father see that we need uncle's help if we mean to defeat Morgoth and the creatures who serve him? Nolofinwë is valiant, and Findekáno is hardy and loyal. Their people are many. We need them, and I mourn for the loss of trust that I know this deed will have brought between us, the great branches of Finwë's house. How can even Nolofinwë, who has ever been the gracious and loving brother my father has not deserved, forgive this last greatest breach of their relationship? My father drew arms against him, and still he followed to try to mend the rift between them, but my father will not let it be healed. I fear the lies of Morgoth have created a rift that nothing will be able to bring together again, and that in doing so, he has already defeated us.

My heart forewarns me that this is a great ill we have perpetrated, this burning, and more harm than just a sundering of our kin will come from it.

 Note: When each fell, he left the notes into the keeping of the next brother. As last Fëanorion, I have five of the seven: my own, Maitimo's, Curifin's and the Ambarussa's. Celegorm's was burned when Glaurung took Nargothrond, and Caranthir's was lost, for he was secretive of its whereabouts, and the secret died with him.


	3. Fingolfin

This except comes not from the writings of one of my brothers, but instead from the memoir of our uncle, Fingolfin. I found this in the annals of Lindon when Russandol and I journeyed there many years after our uncle's death. Father could not find it in himself to like his brothers, and though he many times attempted to hurt them, Fingolfin remained a supporter of his brother, I suspect, until the burning of the ships. His feelings for Russandol stem mostly from his son's affection for my brother, but nonetheless, Russandol at this point could not have been high on my uncle's list of favoured persons.

My son is mad. He has taken to the idea that he shall rescue my nephew from his torment at Morgoth's hands. I should not allow it, cannot allow it, yet I know that he will go, and I will offer my blessing. Maitimo was his closest friend and Findekáno still loves him for all his betrayals.

Maitimo was such a gentle child; he reminded me of Arafinwë, actually. It is this that amazes me about his betrayals- it seems so unlike Maitimo to forget Findekáno. The few times I journeyed to the madhouse that my brother called home, I was impressed by Maitimo. He was a serious child, but he cared for his brothers' every need. Fëanor was too hard on the boy in the beginning, I think. He did not understand that his oldest was not a smith; what Maitimo was I never decided, but he was decidedly not a smith. What possessed my brother to name Atarinkë after himself when Maitimo was his heir, I know not, but Findekáno mentioned how hurt Maitimo was by it. He was nothing like his father, true, but for Fëanor to pass over him like that, well, I suppose Fëanor is like father in his tendency to choose favourites.

I confess, Maitimo's torment haunts me, but a rescue attempt is suicide. Not even Makalaurë has attempted it, and some days I suspect he loves his brother more than his own life. How can I let Findekáno try? And yet how can I stop him, when I know his heart yearns for Maitimo's freedom?

Findekáno left this morning for Thangorodrim and my heart weeps for I cannot imagine that I shall see him again. Turukáno accused me of sending him to his death. He spoke with Findekáno just before he left- until then only I knew of his plans. As I understand it, Turukáno gave the same reasons as I why he should stay, but just as mine did not, Turukáno's arguments did nothing to sway my headstrong oldest. Valar, if you have not forsaken us, keep him safe! Bring him home to me.

I do not even know where to begin. Findekáno returned home with Maitimo. My nephew is in sorry condition, and Findekáno clearly feels he has sinned against his cousin in some great way. I see not how, for Findekáno brought Maitimo home against all odds, saved his life by all accounts, even if he had to take his hand to do so.

Maitimo called for me as soon as the healers cleared him for visitors. He said his father was dead, and he was head of the House of Fëanor, and therefore should be High King of the Noldor. He had made no claim of this title, for he had been captured immediately after his father's death. Makalaurë, I knew, refused to claim the title while Maitimo yet lived, and claimed he would know if Maitimo died. Maitimo had returned, and therefore could claim the kingship.

"I have no want of it," he told me seriously. "I deserve it not, and I am not the elf my father was. You are eldest of the House of Finwë, and too, I owe you and your get a debt I will never be able to repay. Take the Kingship, Uncle, and forgive what trespasses lay between our houses. As soon as I am able, I intend to give you fully half the horses we brought and as many of the supplies as my people can spare, whether you take the offer or no."

I could not answer. "Maitimo, what mean you by this?"

"Uncle," he said softly. "I am High King in this moment only in name. There was a time when a name was enough to make a thing, but I am no king, though I bear the name. Though he loved my father best, I see much of Grandfather in you; you can be the king he was. You can lead our people where I am not fit, and you will raise our people to great heights, not drag them down into the darkness as I would. The oath binds me fast, and I cannot let my fate be any others', as it would be if I did this thing."

"Maitimo, how can I refuse?"

"Don't," he answered, close to begging as any proud elf prince can be. "Accept, and let our hurts be mended."

"So be it," I answered. "Now rest, nephew. You have come through fire and you will be stronger for the tempering, but your body needs time. One day, I've no doubt, you will trounce Findekáno with your left hand as you used to do with your right, but not today."

He smiled and for a moment the shadow lifted from his face. "Thank you, uncle," he said, and for a moment sounded like the beloved nephew who played with my son when they were children, not the weary veteran Findekáno had carried into the camp a week ago. How can a mere eight years have changed him this much? "Will you send Findekáno in?"

I nodded. "I will find him," I promised. His brothers will not be pleased with his choice, though I think Makalaurë of all of them will understand.

Maitimo is right. A king under the Oath would destroy our people. My brother nearly led us all to ruin, for in our division Morgoth would have destroyed us. Findekáno took the first steps to heal the breach, and Maitimo crossed the remaining distance, and so the Noldor are healed for a time. I just never expected to be king.


	4. Fingon

Fingon, too, kept a journal. It was left in Lindon after his fall, I can only assume for Ereinion. I hope the High King will forgive my copying the document when Russandol and I journeyed there after the fall of Amon Ereb, for I already had in mind this collection. Here is Fingon's account of Russandol's rescue and their conversation following Russandol's waking.

I have returned triumphant from Thangorodrim, coming unlooked for out of Morgoth's realm with Russandol. I cannot express the terror that gripped me as I sneaked through the Dark One's darkness into the very heart of his stronghold. I despaired of finding my cousin, for all about was barren and craggy as though Yavanna had cursed this land.

I came from the south-west corner, through valleys barren of anything but rock and thorny bushes. I followed the valley north and around as it looped back east and a touch southward. I greatly feared it would bring me to some gate hidden but used by Morgoth's creatures and I would be discovered, but I had to continue. I was only just west of the great gates and some ways north, I do not know how far exactly, when I despaired of finding Russandol. I had found no life, none at all, and no way to sustain any. There was nothing edible in the mountain range, and no water. My heart quailed and doubts taunted me. How could I even be sure Morgoth had not already killed him? And what could I do if instead he were imprisoned deep in the dungeons of Angband?

My heart cried out within my chest against the despair and called me to action. It is easy to recall days in Tirion when Russandol, Makalaurë, and I would sit. Russandol asked often in those quiet days for me to play, for I am more than fair with a harp. Makalaurë would sing. I drew out my harp (what folly to bring it, and yet, thank Varda I did) and began to play.

I was greatly surprised and pleased when my song was returned, weak but present. I had found Russandol. He was fastened by an iron band to the rock face above me. I called to him, and he answered. He could not believe that I had come for him. Not even his brothers had tried to rescue him, or if they had, it had had no success. I tried several times to ascend the face of the mountain, but I reached only the shelf beneath him. The face below him was impassible, and even had I been able to climb it, how would Russandol have gotten down? He was severely weakened.

"Kill me, Findekáno, please. Do not leave me here."

"Russandol, no!" I said, horrified that he would ask such a thing of me. I had come to rescue him, not to end his life.

"Please, Findekáno. I can take no more, not having seen you. I see you have your bow. Make it quick. Please, cousin."

It broke my heart to see him like that. He was anguished and without hope. I wept bitterly, but strung my bow. I prayed to Manwe for pity and mercy, that my cousin's death would be swift and painless. The Lord of Airs sent pity of another sort.

Thorondor, the great eagle, swept down and bore me up to the place where Russandol was imprisoned. I looked to the iron cuff. No matter how I pried at it, attacked it, or otherwise attempted to free Russandol, the band remained fast.

"Kill me, cousin. I would rather it be you than Morgoth."

I will never forget having him beg me to kill him. It will haunt me for the rest of my life, a waking nightmare. In desperation, I cut his hand off. I cut it off. I cannot believe the blood; it was unbelievable how it rushed and stained us both. He cried in anguish, but I held him close as Thorondor swept us up and away, and brought us back to my father's camp. What else was there for me to do?

Russandol spent a time with the Healers, but he is strong of spirit, and will recover. He will be as strong with his left hand as he was with his right, if I know Russandol at all. I fear that he will hate me. I cut off his hand! How can he forgive such a trespass? I was selfish; I could not leave him there. I did not want to go on with him, but how can I ask him now to go on, crippled as he doubtless thinks he is.

Forgive me cousin, but I could not find it in myself to end your life, not if I could save you.

Russandol woke today, lucid for the first time after the pain. I was not there, but I am told that the first thing he did was ask for my father. Fëanor, I know, is dead, and Russandol was his heir. But Russandol told my father that since he was eldest of the house of Finwë, the kingship should be his. His brothers, I think, are displeased by this, but Russandol told me later that he feels as if he has finally made a right decision.

When he was finished speaking with my father, he called for me. Coward that I am, I almost did not answer, for though Morgoth's creatures frighten me little, I would rather receive a message from Russandol asking never to see me again than look into his eyes as he pronounced that doom. I see now that I have been needlessly dramatic, and I think my father would laugh at me if he knew the thoughts that tormented me these days while Russandol healed. He thanked me for saving him and apologized for his words on the cliff face. "What kind of kinsman or friend asks one dear to him to end his life?"

"One desperate," I answered. "I fault you not, _otorno_."

Russandol smiled then, but there was weariness in his eyes, bone deep pain that came not from his wound. "Fare you well, Findekáno?" he asked. He had always seen my worries long before anyone else.

I tried to fend him off. "Should I not ask that of you?"

"I will live, but what ails you? You look pale, though color is coming back to you already."

I have little doubt that he spoke truth. Our conversation had soothed any lingering fears as to his disposition toward me, and I was embarrassed now by my doubt. "It is nothing."

"What," he prompted gently.

"I feared you should hate me."

"Findekáno," he remonstrated. "Whatever for?"

I bowed my head. "It is foolish, Russandol, I see that now. Let it lie."

He shook his head. "If it is foolish, tell me anyway, that I might laugh a bit, even at your expense, for my days have had little enough to laugh at, especially the antics of a beloved cousin who I thought never to see again."

I could not deny him that. "I feared you should hate me for taking your hand."

Russandol smiled gently at me. "Were I a better person than I am, I should tell you 'Better my hand than my life,' but I admit that I am sore for the loss of such an important part of me, one I will need in the coming war. Not sore at you, cousin, for you did as you ought, but sore at myself for the foolishness that set me in such a place, and sore at Morgoth, who if I have my say will pay tenfold for the hand that he stole from me." Then he smiled at me. "I hold you blameless, _otorno_, and beyond that, owe you a great debt I shall never be able to repay."

I stayed a little longer and we spoke of trivial things, though I could see in his eyes the pain of his wound. I promised that when his strength had returned, we would spar together as we had in the old days, and he would learn his left hand until he was as good as he had been with his right. As I left, I said one last thing of a serious note, for I know my cousin perhaps better than all except Makalaurë. I told him, "This does not cripple you, Russandol. It does not make you worthless. It makes you a survivor, for who among the Two Kindreds could suffer Morgoth's torment and live on as you have?"


	5. Curufin

Curufin is far from the most favoured of my brothers, even among us, for he was most like our father. I could see some days the reflection of the same mad light that shone in our father's eyes in his last days shining in Curufin's. Maedhros and Curufin never got along, as I believe is understandable from both perspectives. And he and Celegorm were close, so the entry that follows is all the more startling.

Nelyo and Tyelkormo had a fight today, as heated an argument as I have seen between any of my brothers. Tyelkormo spoke truly, but his manner was uncouth and uncalled for, and I can see Nelyo's reluctance even now. He will follow us, though. He always does.

Kano called us together because he said he had news for us, news that would maybe bring us closer to fulfilling our oath. The Silmaril of Luthien is in Doriath, in the hands of Dior Eluchíl.

For a moment after Kano told us, we were all silent, stunned, I think, by the implications of this. Then Tyelkormo said as if it were obvious, "Then we go get it."

"Wait," Nelyo said. "Let us send him a message asking for the jewel of our father. Perhaps he will give it to us."

Tyelkormo scoffed, and I privately agreed, but Nelyo was right to ask first before using force. He has always been one of the more level-headed of us.

Ambarto went to Doriath as our messenger, though we could have sent one of our servants. Ambarto wanted to go. He was pleased to be trusted with the message and I could see his dejection when he returned. We all knew by his face that Dior had said no before he reported it to us.

Tyelkormo spoke before any of us. "Then we must take it."

Nelyo answered, "Just like that?"

"Yes," Tyelkormo responded. "We take it, as our oath demands, and kill any in our way."

"Tyelkormo!" Nelyo seemed genuinely shocked.

"Think, Maitimo. They will not give us the Silmaril without a fight. If that were so, Dior would have sent it with Ambarto. We must fight them to get it back, and kill those who oppose us before they kill us. We are too few now to risk not striking first."

"We cannot just kill them! They have women and children, Tyelkormo!"

Tyelkormo scoffed. "And did not the women and children too rise up in arms against us at Alqualondë?"

Nelyo scowled. "And you use that as our model of what we should do?" I felt a little sorry for Nelyo. He is so unlike our father, and yet trying to be like him for our sakes. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to know that your father did not love you as much as he loved your brother, your younger brother. That I was father's favourite must have burned Nelyo, both against father and against me, and yet he never treated me any different from Tyelkormo or Morifinwë. They were so different, Nelyo and father; Nelyo was more like mother, peaceful, gentle. I think what he did at Alqualondë torments him still.

Tyelkormo is more like father than Nelyo. He answered, "And why not? Father would not have us deny our oath. Isn't that right, Atarinkë?" That was intended to sting Nelyo with his inability to be father and father's favouritism of me, and it did sting him. I could see the pain flash in his face before he covered it.

I did not answer. I would not. This was between Nelyo and Tyelkormo, and whatever Nelyo decided, I would follow, for like father or not, he was the eldest of us now.

Nelyo bowed his head.

"Would you damn us to the Everlasting Dark? For that is what we called down upon our heads should we break our oath."

"Nay," Nelyo said finally. "I would not. We will go to Doriath." I admit I breathed a sigh of relief. Tyelkormo was right, though perhaps his methods were too harsh. I did not want to be doomed to the Dark. Nelyo continued, "Brothers, I beg of you, do not kill unless you are attacked. Elves killing other elves- it is not what should be done."

"We won't," Ambarussa promised.

"Worry not, brother," Tyelkormo said. "Carnistir, Atarinkë and I shall arrange it." He beckoned for us to follow him, and I stepped after them, but glanced back once.

Nelyo stood with his head bowed, and Kano wrapped an arm around his shoulders, speaking quietly in his ear. I knew he hated himself for not being able to find another way. I also knew there was not one.

Poor Nelyo, trying to be father and himself too- trying to do right and follow the oath. He must learn as we have that there is no way for both. We follow the Oath and damn ourselves even as we damn the consequences, but damn to consequences we must, or destroy ourselves.


	6. Elros

Only days before the fall of Amon Ereb, when Russandol and I took the Peredhil to Lindon, Elros gave into my keeping a letter for Russandol. I swore I would send it as soon as I was able, but the letter was never sent. The attack came before I could send it to him, and in the chaos that followed, I forgot I had it. Only after Russandol's fall did I find it on my person, and I opened it. My brother did not see it, though I wish dearly he had, but perhaps now those who speak ill of him will understand, at least, that he was not evil.

Maedhros-

It is Elrond's and my Naming Day next Asta, and I know Maglor said you were probably too busy, but I wanted you to know El and I want you there. El says he thinks you stay away all the time not because you're busy like Maglor says, but because you're afraid we don't like you. He's pretty smart about stuff like that, so I figure he's probably right.

I want you to know that's not true. We like you alot. We're not stupid, and we know why you think that, but we don't. Maglor talks about you alot- did you know that? I think he misses you.

He's told us everything. The oath, your father's death, your capture, the attack on Doriath, what happened to our uncles, the attack on Sirion, what happened to our mother- Everything.

Maglor says I have an uncanny ability to read people, but most of what I see I take from cues from El, and he says you are tormented. I say you torment yourself. You regret the Oath; that much anyone can see. You cannot break it and you cannot fulfill it and every day it drives you further from what you think is right. It has driven you to deeds you think you deserve destruction for. But it does not make you, Maedhros. Do not destroy yourself over something you cannot change. You do as you must, and you survive or you do not, but you cannot look back or the guilt will eat you alive.

El doesn't remember Sirion much, but I do. I even remember the attack. I remember Mother telling us to run and being caught. We were so afraid. I was terrified they were going to hurt El, but you never let them hurt us. Maglor took us in, but I could see that you were going to if he didn't.

I don't know if you remember, but I was there when they told you Amrod and Amras were dead. I remember thinking that I would have died if something happened to El, and that you had to be so strong if you could keep going after loss like that. You wept when I would have lay down and refused to keep going and it amazed me.

When Maglor told us of you capture and torment, I could only think how brave you must be to keep going, to not let the hate consume you. And your hand. It's so incredible that you could overcome that that loss, and come out of it stronger. Maglor says you're better now with your left than you were then.

We don't hate you. Yes, if we could, El and I would wave a magic wand and live happily with our mother and father back at Sirion, but we are happy as we are. Mother told Father once when he asked about her family, "One cannot live ever in the past and only wish it still were as it had been. We must look forward and take joy in what is." She's smart, my mother. Yes, we miss our family, but you did not kill them; El and I will see them again someday. You saved us when we might have been killed. You took care of us when we were alone, you and Maglor. You give us a level of strength and bravery to aspire to.

El says I have rambled on at you enough, but I guess I just wanted you to know about the celebration, and ask you to come if you can.

Elen silar le.(Note below)

Elros Peredhel

 Note: This means simply "A star shine upon you."


	7. Important Notes on Elvish and Naming

Remember my brother kindly, ye of the Free Peoples. Remember him as he was, not as the tales paint him. Remember Maedhros the Tall, son of Fëanor. Remember my brother, Russandol.

Appendix A

Of Quenya, and Sindarin

I tried my best to keep the elvish to a minimum for those not fluent the tongues of my people. I could not avoid using a few, out of my own convenience or to keep the documents as they were, and so I offer a clarification for any confusing terms. The elvish in this volume is entirely Quenya, for at the time that was the primary tongue among the Noldor. Sindarin would come into use and Quenya would be used only as a scholarly language much later, but this was not until after our time.

Definitions:

_Asta (Quenya)(_pl._ Astar)_ refers to the period of time men call a month.

_yen (Quenya)_(pl_. yeni)_ an elven year, 144 mortal years

_otorno (Quenya)_ means brother, denoting friendship, not kin. The Sindarin term is_Gwador_ (for kin, the term is _toron_ or _Gwanur_ in Sindarin)

_Fëa (Quenya)(_pl. _Fëar) _spirit, soul (lit. spark)

The suffix –_ion_ means simply "son of," so 'Fëanorion' (pl. Fëanorionen) means "son(s) of Fëanor"

Appendix B

Of Naming

The traditions of the Noldor give each elf at the very least two names, a father-name and a mother-name. Both of these names would be in Quenya, though when Sindarin came into common use, names were translated directly or a Sindarin name was taken. Beyond these names, some elves then took for themselves or were given an _epessë_, a nickname, which those close to them used. Following are the various names of those referenced in these tales.

Names

Sindarin Mother Father Epessë

Maedhros Maitimo Nelyafinwë Russandol, Nelyo

Maglor Makalaurë Kanafinwë Kano

Celegorm Tyelkormo Turkafinwë

Caranthir Carnistir Morifinwë

Curufin Atarinkë Curufinwë

Amrod Ambarussa Pityafinwë

Amras Ambarussa Telufinwë Ambarto

Fingon Findekáno

Faenor Fëanaro Curufinwë Fëanor

Fingolfin Nolofinwë

Turgon Turukáno


End file.
